IOU
by am1thirteen
Summary: Fill for this prompt: Moriarty's poor penmanship causes him to write I U instead of IOU


IOU **am1thirteen** Summary:

Fill for this prompt:  
Moriarty's poor penmanship causes him to write I U instead of IOU.

Notes:

Fill for this prompt:  
. ?thread=81293973#t81293973  
Moriarty's poor penmanship causes him to write I U instead of IOU.

Work Text:

Short fill: IOU (I like the prompter's title)  
Sherlock/John  
Not beta-ed, and I'm not sorry it came out cracky

'Staying Alive' playing loudly in the background, Jim Moriarty sat quietly as he waited for Sherlock to arrive. This was the day of their final confrontation and to say that he was upset would have been an understatement. Sherlock Holmes, the biggest, most interesting distraction in his boring life, would die today as the consequence of losing their intricate final problem. Just thinking about the dull days that awaited made him cringe. What do villains do for fun when their heroes die anyway?

From the corner of his eyes, Jim noted someone in black coming through the rooftop door. Finally.

"Well, here we are at last," he greeted without turning, "You and me, Sherlock."

The person approached him with careful steps.

"And our problem... the final problem." Always a villain with flair, Jim raised his phone with a hand, emphasizing the song, "Staying ali-what the fuck!"

"Look, Jim, I don't want any trouble. Sherlock doesn't know I'm here."

Standing before him at the moment was definitely not the world's only consulting detective. It was the 'live-in'. What the bloody fuck. Jim looked down at his fallen phone forlornly.

"Ah," he quickly composed himself, "Who would have known? It's the blogger! How's the landlady doing?"

"She's alright. Of course she's alright. She texted me right after I walked out the door. This isn't the first time he tried to get rid of me before confronting you alone, you know. Also I learned how to read his texts through the movement of his fingers some time ago. That's how I know where you're going to meet." John took a whiff, his dominant hand making repeated gripping gestures on his side which gave away his tenseness despite his neutral expression.

Jim frowned, confused. He hated not knowing things, such as, what John Watson was planning to do at the moment. All of his scenarios and backup scenarios had two actors, himself and Sherlock Holmes. Ad-libbing. Ugh. So gauche.

"I know you came to our flat some time ago. Found your message. You know, on the apple. I'm sure Sherlock didn't intend to show it to me, but he was too far inside his mind palace when I cleaned it up," John started again, licking his lips, "I guess what I'm trying to say is... I found out about your 'intention' towards Sherlock."

"Oh really?" Jim threw him a grin that didn't reach his eyes. I Owe You. What sort of conclusion the ordinary might have come up with? He couldn't possibly understand.

"Yes, yes, you've made it pretty clear, I guess," John replied without missing a beat, "Look, I'm not saying that I know about Sherlock Holmes. Well, at least not when it comes to that 'area'. I've seen so little of it, despite the incident the 'the woman'... okay here's what I know. Sherlock considers himself married to his work. And before you ask, no, I was not flirting with him at the time. He completely misunderstood. I was just making small talk, trying to get to know each other because we were going to share a flat. For the love of God, I'm not actually gay."

Jim snorted, impatient. The blogger was babbling. He was fucking babbling. Wasting their time. Where the hell was Sherlock anyway? He should have arrived a long time ago.

"Okay, Johnny boy, it was nice talking to you. But this game is between Sherlock and I, so if you could please leave and let the adults sort things out."

John looked mildly offended. "You do realize I'm older than you?"

"Boring! Everyone can get old. It's what in here," Jim flicked his forefinger and pointed it to his own head, "that counts."

"Supposing you get what you want from Sherlock, what are you going to do with him?" John asked, ignoring Jim's remark mostly out of reflex (one didn't simply bunk up with Sherlock Holmes for a year and came out a more sensitive person).

Jim laughed incredulously, "Oh Johnny, surely by now you know that I have gotten him. I have been doing things to him. Things that he likes."

"God," John looked like he was going to be sick, "You sick, twisted bastard. I'm not even going to ask when you-Did he even-was it even mutual? Did he give his consent?"

By then Jim could feel something was off, but impatient as he was, all he wanted to do was getting to 'main course'.

"He was certainly enthusiastic," he shrugged, silently wondering why his answer only seemed to incense the doctor even further. Ah the woes of the ordinaries. Sometimes they were just so hard to understand.

"I told Sherlock once that the two of you would be very happy together," John jutted a finger at him, losing his cool, "It has something to do with the fact that you both have a combined mental age of twelve. All the 'oh I am so clever, nothing else matters' attitude. Evidently you are just the kind of thrill he needs, just the right mix of cleverness and danger like 'that woman', but I took it back, I took it all back. You said you loved Sherlock. Well here's a tip, when you love someone, you don't fucking tear his life apart."

Jim opened his mouth, but was quickly silenced again as John continued his rant (one didn't simply spend most of his time with Sherlock Holmes and not learn a thing or two about throwing a temper tantrum).

"These last few days Sherlock has been so distraught, he wasn't thinking straight. He thinks he is so clever he can hide it from me, but I saw it. I saw all the things he was trying to hide. I saw his pain. And help me God, I'll sooner die than leaving this sodding place without settling this matter with you."

"I'm afraid I'm not following this conversation, John."

"Let's make it simple for you, leave Sherlock Bloody Holmes alone or I will fucking skin you." John didn't even seem to notice Jim's mystified expression and the disappearance of the pet name.

"The fact that you most probably can't do that aside," Skinning people was delicate work, Jim wished people would have stopped regarding it so casually, "You were saying things about love?"

"Don't you even start about love! Sherlock is inexperienced, a carved love message on a sodding apple might have been enough to impress him but you can't fool me. That wasn't even fine carving, the heart shape was hardly legible."

The heart shape was hardly legible.

The heart shape was hardly legible.

_The fucking heart shape was hardly legible._

Jim Moriarty had never been so humiliated in his life.

"Did it occur in your inferior mind that the heart shape was quote-hardly legible-unquote because _**IT WASN'T MEANT TO BE A HEART AT THE FIRST PLACE?!**_"

John took a step back as Jim suddenly rose and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, turning their position around so quickly when John regained his senses, he was already hovering dangerously on the edge of the rooftop.

"How dare you assume that me, the superior mind, would stoop so low to even play with the idea of love? Such feeble, fleeting, grubby_sentiment_-"

"John!"

Both men stopped moving. The voice sounded far away, from the other side of the door, which was apparently locked. The doorknob shook vehemently with each push from the inside.

"John Watson, I know you're there!" Called the baritone voice again, positively furious, "When I get to you, you'd better have a good explanation as to why you are talking about _love, heart_ and _sentiment_ with Jim Moriarty!"

END


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